“I'm surprised someone doesn't call the cops,” Asher said quietly as we trailed the back of the line.
“It's happened before.”
“You two!” Grandma howled. “I can't hear you back there. There are no slackers allowed in this chorus.”
Asher begrudgingly hummed along to the tune of “Silent Night.” When I huddled close to him for warmth, the annoyance faded somewhat from his face.
“You know, I'm actually having a pretty good time. I can't remember the last time my family gathered around the dinner table together – or did anything together, for that matter.”
“Hmm. You don't strike me as the sort who'd miss things like that.”
“How can I miss what I never had in the first place?”
He tried to hide it, but there was hurt in his voice. Maybe he'd managed to conceal his true feelings all this time, but spending this night with all of us opened those old wounds back up.
Up ahead, a group of children were building a snowman in their yard. We paused to sing; they stared like we were aliens. A couple of the boys laughed at us. One whipped out a phone and started to record us on video.
“Louder, now,” mom demanded. “Remember, we're trying to share our Christmas spirit!”
One of the kids threw a big snowball, which smacked Asher square in the head. He stood there with chunks of ice dripping from his ears while the brat's parents yelled at him from the porch.
Everyone watched him and waited, as if they expected him to explode. To be honest, I was waiting for the same thing.
Instead, he brushed the snow off and laughed.
“If it's a snowball fight you wanted, kid, I'm happy to oblige.” He crouched and rolled a tightly packed ball between gloved hands. “But I'm warning you; I've got a pretty good arm.”
The kids shrieked and howled, tumbling over themselves as they hurried for cover.
“Inside, quick!” yelled the one with the phone. “Before he kills us!”
The mother was glad to usher them into the house. “Thanks,” she said. “I've been trying to round them up for an hour.”
Grandma and the rest carried on with their singing, making quite a racket as they marched down the road. As for me, I couldn't help but stare at Asher.
“Little jerks.” He wiped the ice crystals from his hands. “This is why I'm never becoming a parent.”
“But you do seem to have a way with children.”
He scoffed. “Unfortunately. You should see 'em hanging all over me at Slicker Image, especially when I'm stocking the shelves with the latest hot new toy.”
A new image played in my head. In this one, Asher and I were married for real. I was watching him play football with a child – our child – in the yard. Everyone was laughing, happy, content.
The fantasy came out of nowhere. My cheeks burned as I hurried to shut it down before it got any further than that.
“Oh, kids! Don't dally,” grandma called to us, waving her arms. “We've still got two blocks to go. Then we'll go home and play our favorite board games.”
“Duty calls, I guess,” Asher said, collecting my hand in his.
“You know, for faking a relationship, you're being awfully convincing. I never knew you were this good an actor.”
“Well, I'm not quite faking everything.” He squeezed my butt when no one was looking. “Though I've never felt so out of my element in my life.”
What, exactly, was he faking? That he had feelings for me?
Because, try as I might to stop it, the feelings I had grown for him were one-hundred percent real. Ugh, damn it, I knew screwing him was a bad idea.
We caught up with the others just as they finished the last chorus of “Joy to the World.” Up ahead was Grant Park, a gorgeous field of pure white that seemed to glow under the full moon. The pond was frozen over, and the ice shimmered like the diamond on my ring.
The ring that should have been on my finger right now. The ring I wished Asher had bought me for real reasons, for love.
Wait, what? Love?
“You two truly are an adorable couple,” grandma gushed. “It's times like these that make me miss Charles. How I wish he were still here.”
I didn't know who she was talking about – probably just some boyfriend from her younger years – but Asher paused, and the corner of his mouth twitched a bit. What had gotten into him?
“Who's Charles, mom?” My mother giggled like a teen girl. “Ooh, a secret lover, perhaps?”
“Ugh, gross. Not something I want to hear about,” mumbled Cole, who sank his hands in his pockets and hurried off with dad.
“Oh no, I'm far too old to be dating anymore.” She turned to Asher. “Charles Carrington. He was your grandfather, yes? Such a sweet, generous fellow he was. That's why I'm simply thrilled you're dating Sarah. I hope he's passed his good traits onto you.”
“Yes, better him than his mother,” mom grumbled, apparently too tipsy on eggnog to avoid insulting him. “The lying, thieving harpy. That sweater was mine, and she damn well knew it.”
Mom shuffled off, tripping over her own two feet and muttering to herself. Everyone else had headed for home, but Asher stood frozen, staring at grandma as though studying her under a microscope.
“'Can't believe our relatives actually dated,” I said quietly. Grandma didn't hear; she was on some spiel about how wonderful Charles had been to her. “The odds of that must be – ”
“Mrs. Masters,” Asher interrupted me. “I don't remember Charles ever mentioning you.”
“He probably wouldn't have, I imagine. He and I were an item well before you were born.” She
